


Powder Keg

by ember_firedrake



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Flirting, Innuendo, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:19:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Flint takes it upon himself to ensure Silver is properly trained in using a musket, things become a little tense. </p>
<p>Written for Dee218's prompt in Pirate Prompts 2016</p>
            </blockquote>





	Powder Keg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dee218](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee218/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Dee218](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee218/pseuds/Dee218) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> "Again," Flint said, fixing Silver's position. His hands were circling Silver's arms, guiding his aim with a steady touch under his biceps. The command was a challenge against the crook of Silver's neck, teasing his skin and making him shiver. 
> 
> A missing scene from 310 where Flint teaches Silver to use the musket. The lesson starts innocently enough - that is before Flint notices how Silver reacts to his closeness and decides to take some power back by making Silver squirm. Can be either heavy flirting/teasing or full blown smut, the writer can decide.

“Wake up,” Flint said, gruff voice piercing Silver's awareness. 

He blinked his eyes open, peering up at Flint in the predawn light. His head pounded, the effect of the rum from last night, and Flint stood over him with...a musket. 

Silver tensed, old instincts dying hard, and Flint rested a hand on his shoulder to steady him. 

“It's all right,” Flint said. “I just want to make sure you're ready for the upcoming battle” 

He stepped away, allowing Silver time to regain his bearings and wonder what Flint meant by that. Through his rum-induced headache, everything came rushing back. The fleet of English ships that would arrive by tomorrow. Burying the chest in the woods last night. The conversation that had followed...

Silver let out a soft groan. He couldn't even blame his words on liquor, just his own tendency towards brutal honesty when he felt off-kilter. Flint's confession...he hadn't expected that. And while his own sincerity had been genuine, he had to attribute admitting his own fears to Flint at least partially as a way to change the topic. Because he knew, had he dwelled on that, liquor and curiosity and whatever inexorable pull he felt towards that man would have driven him to some rash action.

He had lain awake last night on his cot back at the Maroon camp, thoughts of their conversation and the implications of it swirling through his mind along with the rum he'd imbibed. Flint had been with a man before. Flint had _loved_ a man before, and the more Silver found his mind drifting to the matter the more he wondered about this strange pull he felt. He had experienced base desires and needs before, but it had always puzzled him the lengths people could be driven to when they thought themselves in love. Mr. Logan sprang to mind. For Silver's part, he had never felt anything for another person strong enough that it would cause him to put their needs above his own. 

But hadn't he done that with Flint? How else could he explain his actions when Flint had considered sacrificing himself for the sake of the crew? _For some reason, it bothers me_ , he'd told Flint. Even knowing his attempt would likely be in vain, he had tried to convince Flint not to take that road. Even with his own fears of getting swept up in Flint’s darkness, the possibility of Flint dying had frightened him more, and driven him to place Flint’s needs above his own. And now, he’d committed himself to a war at Flint’s side, a war he now knew originated because Flint—had loved a man. 

“Hurry up,” Flint said, “There are still matters to attend to, and I want to make sure you're ready.”

“Me?” Silver asked, sitting up and reaching for the boot where it rested. He began bucking the straps in place. “I thought the plan was agreed upon.”

“I'm not calling the plan into question, whatever my...personal reservations about Dobbs may be,” Flint said. There was a curious expression in his eyes, and though Silver had devoted countless amounts of time trying to decipher Flint’s expressions, this one was a mystery to him. Flint shouldered the gun. “I want to see how you handle the musket.”

Silver scowled as he rose from the cot. “I have fired weapons before, you realize?”

“You've fired pistols before. A cannon once. And how often do pistols fail to discharge because their priming powder has gotten damp or they've been loaded improperly? I want to ensure you're as prepared as you need to be.”

Silver bristled, anything that could be taken as a comment on his capabilities setting him on edge these days, then took a steadying breath. It wasn't about him, it was Flint’s own peace of mind. That man and his plans, and the need to ensure that every part was working properly. 

Besides, Flint’s face still held that curious expression, and the longer Silver met his gaze the more he felt a prickling beneath his skin. He would find out its reason. 

Flint led him from the camp, towards the trees, and for a moment Silver thought they were going back to where the treasure was buried. Instead, he was led to a clearing some distance from camp, where a makeshift barricade had been constructed and some targets set up further off. Silver raised an eyebrow at Flint.

“You’re serious about this? Jesus, how long did it take for you to set this up?” 

Flint’s only answer was to arch an eyebrow and hold out the musket. Silver gave a sigh of exasperation as he took it, pulled the hammer back, raised the weapon to level it at one of the targets, and pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked. Nothing happened. 

“You’ll be needing these,” Flint said, holding a box of powder cartridges and bullets. There was amusement in his eyes, a glimmer of mischief that both infuriated and thrilled Silver. He wasn’t accustomed to Flint being _playful_ around him, and he found he rather liked the shift in their dynamic of late. 

Silver took the box, setting it on the edge of the makeshift barricade. He hadn’t loaded a musket before, but how different could it be from a flintlock pistol? The principles were the same with any firearm. He tore the powder cartridge with his teeth, sputtering at the black powder that got on the corner of his lips. Powder was poured down the barrel, then the bullet after. Clumsily, he packed the ramrod into the barrel, then set it back in its place. A small amount of remaining powder he poured into the priming pan by the hammer. 

Silver pulled the hammer back again, raised the gun—more smoothly this time—and pulled the trigger. There was a flash of smoke as the flint sparked near his face, and he gave a start just as it ignited the powder in the barrel. The musket roared, and the bullet missed his intended target by several yards. 

Silver coughed as the smoke cleared, embarrassment burning in the pit of his stomach. Twice he’d looked the fool in front of Flint. He drew in a sharp breath as Flint’s hand came down on his shoulder, a gentle weight.

“Here,” Flint said, his tone surprisingly non-judgmental given how badly Silver had just erred. “I’ll talk you through it as you try again.” 

Silver’s face was hot, but he took a steadying breath and did as Flint instructed, placing the gun stock on the ground with the barrel pointed upwards. He tore the next cartridge, taking care this time not to get any powder in his mouth, and poured the powder charge into the muzzle of the barrel. 

“Hold the barrel firmly,” Flint instructed. “You'll need a cloth patch for the bullet—there are some in the box—which will help seal the area around the bullet within the barrel, and will give the bullet spin once it fires.”

Flint passed cloth and bullet to him, and for a moment their fingers brushed. Silver's pulse seemed to pound in his ears, and he was suddenly aware of how very close they were. Unbidden, an image appeared in his mind of Flint using a hand to angle Silver's face, bringing their mouths together in a kiss. He pushed that thought from his head, turning his attention back to placing the iron ball and cloth scrap at the muzzle of the barrel. 

“Now,” Flint said, his voice taking on a lower cadence. “Use the ramrod to guide the ball down, and ensure that it is firmly seated within the barrel.” 

Silver's mouth had gone suddenly dry, his mind stalling on the other possible way Flint’s words could be taken. Surely he must have some notion of how he sounded? Silver swallowed, moving to obey lest Flint notice he was out of sorts. 

“You'll need to open the frizzen to access the flash pan,” Flint said, “so, place the hammer in the half-cock position.” 

Silver would not be surprised if he swallowed his own tongue by the time this was finished. He certainly didn't want to think about half- or full-cock when they were this close to one another. Shakily, he adjusted the hammer, moved the frizzen latch so he could pour the fine powder into the priming pan, and set the latch back in place. 

“Very good,” Flint said, the praise sending heat pooling into Silver's belly. Both of Flint’s hands rested on Silver's shoulders now, and he took a steady breath to compose himself. 

“When you're ready, take aim. You've got an accurate range of about a hundred yards. Line up your sights. Pull the hammer back to the fully cocked position.”

The target Flint had set, a tattered scrap of sailcloth, was perhaps fifty yards off. Silver realized then the benefit of fighting on a ship with flintlocks and cutlasses. Close quarters. Very little chance of missing a mark. He centered the iron sights on the cloth target and used his thumb to draw back the hammer. The butt of the stock was braced against his shoulder, his cheek almost flush with the wood. 

Flint’s face was on his other side, inches away. One of his hands traveled down to rest on Silver’s waist. His body was so near Silver could almost feel the heat coming off him. “This is the most important part,” Flint said, voice barely above a whisper. Silver clung to every word. “When you pull the trigger, the flint will spark against the frizzen and ignite the flash powder. _That_ flash will ignite the main charge in the barrel. It can sometimes take a moment for this to occur. You must fight the instinct to flinch, and remain still until the bullet is downrange.”

Silver nodded, his focus narrowing. There was only the target, the musket in his hands, and Flint, who was somehow an intoxicating yet grounding presence at the same time. 

“When you are ready,” the low-spoken syllables seemed to curl in his ear, “slowly exhale, hold that breath, then squeeze the trigger.”

The target. The musket. Flint’s hands resting at his shoulder and hip. Silver exhaled, squeezed the trigger. Spark. _Flash_. An explosion of smoke, yet Silver held as still as possible, watching, awed, as his bullet tore through the sailcloth. 

“Very good,” Flint said again, and this time Silver could no longer deny the effect that praise had upon his body. “A bit of practice, we might even make a marksman of you. Again?”

It was the way he said it—that lilting note on the question that reminded Silver so much of that day they'd hunted sharks together, a heady thrill coursing through him as he saw the look on Flint’s face—that made Silver realize Flint was _flirting_ with him. Had been flirting, this whole time, with the teasing and the innuendo and _his hands_ , still resting on Silver's body. Silver set down the musket, propping it against the barricade. 

Silver turned his face to Flint’s, and one look was all the confirmation he needed for his suspicions. Flint’s pupils were wide, ringed with green, and as Silver met their gaze he found himself unconsciously wetting his lower lip with his tongue. Flint’s gaze dropped to Silver’s mouth. Still, neither of them closed the distance. Curious, wanting in part to test his limits, Silver canted his hips back until they were flush with Flint’s. He was hard.

Flint gasped, and then he was capturing Silver’s mouth in a kiss. The angle was awkward, Silver craning his neck to lean further into the kiss, but he didn't care, not when Flint’s mouth was hot against his. Flint’s lips were surprisingly soft, a counterpoint to the drag of his beard against Silver’s. Silver couldn't bring himself to turn his body, not when Flint was grinding their hips together, the line of his erection pressing to Silver’s ass. It made Silver’s face heat with the awareness that he hadn’t done anything like this before, that the last several days had been filled with things new and foreign to him, careening him towards something he couldn’t yet determine. But Flint’s hands were at the lacings of his trousers, hesitating a moment, and foreign experience or no Silver would not give this up.

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathed into Flint’s mouth. “Do it.” 

Though the air was not cool, he still shivered as his trousers were drawn down, leaving those parts of him exposed and vulnerable. Flint’s mouth traveled along his jaw, to his ear—a hand came up to sweep Silver’s hair to one side so Flint could place an open-mouthed kiss at the nape of Silver’s neck. 

“Lean forward,” Flint said. 

Silver let out a shaky breath, bracing his hands on the barricade as he leaned forward. He was well aware how compromising this situation was, a stuttering of fear going through him at the thought that this could hurt. How ironic, that after all the pain he had endured, the idea could still frighten him. But he trusted Flint—he trusted that Flint would not cause him pain. 

There was a rustling as Flint undid his own trousers, and then his chest was against Silver’s back again. His cock—and Silver felt himself flush again at the awareness that was another man’s cock touching him—sliding against Silver’s thigh, in between his legs. Silver gasped in spite of himself. 

“Is this okay?” Flint asked. “Like this?”

To illustrate his words, Flint drew back and rolled his hips forward again. His cock slid between Silver’s legs, against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, and Silver shivered. It occurred to him that perhaps Flint did not have certain... _necessities_ readily at hand that would ease penetration. Still, there was something to be said for this, and Silver nodded his assent.

Flint leaned in again, the thrust of his hips following. His hands bracketed Silver’s hips, thumbs pressing at the jut of Silver’s hipbones. Silver could feel Flint’s breath warm on the back of his neck, and his own throat felt dry. The slide of Flint’s cock left slickness in its wake, and though the act was more for Flint’s pleasure than Silver’s, something about it made heat twist in Silver’s gut. Friction, sweat and precome left Silver’s inner thighs sensitive, and as Flint began picking up rhythm, the head of his cock brushed against Silver’s perineum.

Silver groaned, unable to stop the tremble that passed through his body as his head fell forward, hair cascading around him. This wasn’t _fucking_ , at least not as he understood it. But then, how was it he felt laid bare, _vulnerable_? Something about this act felt like it _ought_ to be obscene, what with his own pleasure being secondary to the act, but there was a strange intimacy and tenderness in the way Flint rocked into his body, clinging to him like Silver could somehow anchor him here.

Silver’s own cock was heavy between his legs, untouched, the tip glistening. He could reach for himself, but that would mean moving one of his hands from where he was braced on the barricade, and Silver did not trust his own balance in that moment.

“ _John_ ,” Flint breathed, a desperate cadence to his voice. 

Flint’s grip on his hips tightened, the rocking thrusts of his hips taking on a sharper, more erratic rhythm as he mouthed at the back of Silver's neck. The pressure between Silver's legs mounted and he gasped in tandem with Flint as he felt sudden hot slickness on his inner thighs. 

Flint seemed to come down from it slowly, nuzzling at the patch of skin he'd worried on Silver's neck. There would be a mark there, one his hair would keep covered, but the awareness of it made Silver feel heady. Powerful.

Silver shivered as one of Flint’s hands came around to take his cock in a loose hold. He hadn't realized how close he was, but he suspected he would not last long. He let out an unguarded groan as Flint’s other hand moved behind him, fingers tracing through the mess on his inner thighs. 

“ _Please_ ,” Silver said, and he was startled a moment by how _wrecked_ his voice sounded. Flint made an appreciative noise in his throat, his hold on Silver tightening. 

It was the feel of Flint’s index finger, slickened by his own release, tracing the rim of Silver’s hole that finished him. Silver let out a broken moan, his entire body going tense as he spilled over Flint’s fingers. Flint gentled him through it, his touch tender on Silver’s over-sensitized skin.

The first moments of post-coital aftermath brought with them a twisting of anxiety in Silver's stomach. Not only had he no experience with men, he also had no experience where the partner in question was someone he cared deeply for. He hoped Flint would give him some cue to follow. It was a surprise, then, to feel the touch of a cloth, gently wiping the mess from his inner thighs. The cloth swiping over him was efficient, but Silver couldn’t shake the odd sense of tenderness in Flint’s fingers beneath the cloth. 

Silver reached over, catching Flint’s free hand as he finished. He turned, legs shaky, until they were facing each other. Silver was caught by Flint’s expression, the shadow of uncertainty there that mirrored his own. Somehow, that managed to settle his own fears. He reached up, cupping Flint’s face and drawing him forward into a proper kiss, slow and thorough. 

Flint looked down once they separated, a fond smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “When the battle arrives, remember what I showed you.”

“With the way you showed it to me, how could I possibly forget?”


End file.
